Life is full of first pages and last pages — but living takes place in that space between.

I Don’t Know Why

I have a friend (I love saying that even though we’ve never actually met), she’s a writer — a real writer. Like a kick-ass-slap-you-in-the-face-and-make-you-stand-up-straight writer. Her mother died recently, a long drawn out emotionally draining death to that bitch cancer. But here’s my take-away on a piece of this… she’s writing. And it’s amazing. And she’s touching my soul and making me think about things I thought I was quite comfortably past.

My father died in November a couple of years ago. He had been in the hospital for over 30 days, a week of which was in the hospice unit. During those 30 days, I visited everyday — everyday. I spent many nights in that horrific chair that folds almost flat. If my day at work brought me close to the hospital, I would stop in there for lunch in the cafeteria with my mom — usually 2 or 3 times a week and every weekend.

My routine was simple, I went to my dad’s room. He would immediately say, “Hi sweetheart” or “Hi bulldog” (he took to calling me bulldog during that last month for some reasons I might talk about on another day), then he would say, “take your mother out of here”. My mom would already be getting up to come with me to the cafeteria. It wasn’t an enormous amount of time we would spend in there together — maybe 30 or 40 minutes. But it was our time — time to not worry about the cancer that was taking over my father’s body, time to not worry about the next test or medicine or oxygen levels. We would peruse all the various staples the cafe had to offer then we would sit off to the side and people watch — the greatest pastime of all. We would eavesdrop on conversations and smile at the familiar nurses as they walked by. We would make plans on what do to when they finally let Dad go home — a hospital bed and nursing care and a wheelchair… we had it all worked out. When we were done, we would head back up to Dad’s room (I always stopped at the coffee kiosk to get him a cup of coffee and mom one too), I would kiss him goodbye and let him know which night I would be staying with him and which day I would bring the kids by — and I would leave and carry on with my day. This was my routine… for a month, this was my routine.

After my mom died, I felt I was mourning both their deaths because it all happened so quick. I was numb for a while — in the beginning. One day, I found myself driving in a familiar area at lunch time — my car guided itself into the hospital parking garage. I walked to the cafeteria and perused the various offerings. I sat off to the side and I eavesdropped on a few conversations. I smiled at a few familiar faces. I stopped at the coffee kiosk on my way to the waiting area on the hospice floor. I sat down and drank my coffee… and I left and carried on with my day. There were no thoughts, no cognitive processing — just physical actions. I did this about 3 or 4 times over the next month or two — I don’t know why… but it felt good, the routine, the familiarity of it.

So, my friend, the kick-ass writer — brought that deeply buried memory of that routine to the forefront of my thoughts. Words do that for us sometimes. Words matter. They help us, they heal us, they break us, they anger us, they sadden us, they make us shake in fits of laughter. That’s my take-away from this — I don’t know why… but it feels good to experience all those things.

Thank you Terre — make sure you read Laura’s posts… wow.
You have no idea have comforting you have been to me these last couple of weeks — I hope I can return the favor some day (or just treat you to a laugh) 😉

Losing someone you love hurts so much. Sometimes I think I’ll never survive the losses of the past four years and then I realize I have to, if only to honor those I loved so much and lost…because they believed in me and my ability to overcome. Sometimes I wish they hadn’t believed in me so much. Who knows why we do the things we do while going through a crises or after we lose someone. I’m sure there is a reason somewhere…I’m just not sure we’ll ever know.

Wow — that just made me cry happy tears. I like that, a lot. Such simple words that mean so much to me. Sometimes people forget that the simplest of gestures are the ones that stay with us.
Thank you Lydia.

I admire your writing and the craft behind it, and while I too understand emotion and healing. I find myself confused.

You see, I stumbled across your blog a few months ago. I was intrigued by yourself awareness and ability to “put pen to paper”…I have found myself looking for your blog maybe once a week or once every two weeks. I am a bit of a voyeur, if you will. I only read these things I never write them or comment. However, I cannot help myself this time. What I want to know is, when will you find the time to be happy again? Not every other day or once a month, BUT ALL THE TIME.

I ask this not to be critical, but more so because I worry that getting caught up in “growth” can also get you caught up in all the negative, all the hurt, and all of the loss brought on the need for all of this transition.

From what I have read you have so much to be thankful for. You seem to recognize those as well, but as a faithful reader, and while I don’t even know you, I find myself yearning for you to smile not only with your face, your heart or your words, but with your gut, your being.

You have grown leaps and bounds before all of your reader’s eyes. You have gone from the caterpillar to a butterfly. Now, it is time to use those wings. What is next for BSain? We have seen the past, tasted the tears, and mourned the loss. Embrace that, cherish that.

My question to you is what does the future hold? How will you use this new found strength? All of that power rquires responsibility. What do you have planned how and how do you plan on using all of this growth and this knowledge?

First of all — wow! Thank you for reading this blog. It’s difficult to put pen to paper and throw out random thoughts for all to see — not knowing what the outcome will be, so thank you for continuing to read!
I guess my question to you is: who is happy all the time? I would think that anyone who relishes in any one emotion exclusively is denying themselves huge opportunities to live and love and laugh and lose — all of which are vital to our own growth and sanity. I would think that the person who is happy all the time is pretending.
The trouble with a blog is that the words that sometimes make it to here — the ones I think are publish worthy — only give you a small glimpse of who I am (of who any blogger is).
So, what does the future hold for me? I have no idea nor do I want to know. I am enjoying this mystery unveiling itself to me in a slow steady pace.
I think, for me, growth requires me to accept all the emotions of being human — the happy, the sad, the angry… all.
I hope you keep coming back!
Thank you for this comment!

I don’t think of it as fake or pretending, I think that is too critical or rigid. I think of it as an ambition, a vision. No one is happy all the time, I agree. I suppose, there was a better way to word that. I think the question was worded or taken too literally.

I know I will not always be happy and I know l will not know what is going to happen next. You’re right; I don’t want to know the future. However, I do have a vision of what happy looks like for me. It is a vision I focus on in meditation. I suppose, it was your vision I was looking for. I hope that answers your question.

The applications of those lessons and journeys (in my mind) are meant to improve me and not to relish in the thing that brought me those lessons exclusively. Growth and learning only happens in application, conscious or not. That being said, I am not saying that my way is the only way. It is just that, my way.
I like to think of it as “drawing a line and sometimes, learning to live within the squiggles”

You have given me a gift. You given me a reason to think about all of this and my intent, was only to hopefully give you the something to think about as well. Although, we have never met, I hope that I was able to plant the same seed for you. For me, your blog as served its purpose.

Well — a huge flaw of mine is to take things people say too literally — it has often been my downfall in the ether.
I think I understand what you’re saying and it does make sense — in my physical world those changes (I think) are more apparent. Here, my words still reflect some inner thoughts — the two will meet eventually.
You have made me think and re-think…thank you for that!
I hope your last line doesn’t mean you won’t be back!
Looking forward to some more discussion and thinking sessions. 😉

You dare to go where I fear to go Becky, I feel so proud that you were able to share such a personal and beautiful story. Your words, as your friend’s did for you, brought back my routine….very similar to yours. Also rather buried amongst many other memories.

Those of us who experienced death of a parent, (loved one) who were ill for a while prior to passing had the good fortune to have that time, that very special time, to spend and make our peace while our loved one was still with us.

One memory that just got stirred up is one that brings me joy, despite the outcome. When my dad was in the hospital at the end of his life he had so many dietary restrictions placed on him….he and I were not big fans of restrictions. Before my visit, I would stop and get his favorite decadent ice cream. The look on his face as I fed him, spoonful after delightful spoonful made my heart soar. The simple joy of ice cream made his eyes come alive and he was for a brief time no longer as sick as he really was.

You are a brave soul to unleash memories of such tragic losses, personally I thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping one of mine come to surface.

I love that image Joanne — you feeding your father ice cream. What a simple, beautiful act.
Thank you Joanne — sometimes we can turn those distant memories into pleasant words for others — as you have done for me!

Words. They mean so much to us, even more so here in our virtual land – they have the power to touch us, and to hurt or heal. Words – they are all we have here really, when actions are more difficult, well except the actions of listening/reading and the actions of writing those amazing words. I am constantly amazed by some of the things I have read here, at other places on the interwebs – Laura’s Brants, Sugar’s writing like a motherf*cker, Caisse, wow, there are so many talented women out here – who heal us with their words, make us think. I put you in that category B. You have made me think, smile, cry, shake a fist (not at you), and wonder. Wonder about life, love, loss and growth. I’ve grown I think along with you this past year, maybe not as beautifully, but in my own little turtle way, I am moving closer to becoming who I want to be, and I have you thank for helping with that. Your memory, the one triggered by Laura’s words, is a beautiful one – I am a believer in ritual. There are times when it comforts us, soothes our overburdened minds, and allows us to be closer to things we love. You were trying maybe, unconsciously to grasp another moment with your parents, maybe, maybe not. But thankfully you have captured them here, with your words, powerful gift – thank you for sharing them with us. xo #blove

Thank you for this c.
I’m constantly trying to make sure the words I choose are the right ones — I’ve chosen the wrong ones far too often. Guess I’m do.
Thanks! This comment means more to me than you’ll ever know!

You are such an evocative writer, b. You make me feel that I am standing right there next to you, witnessing the events while also being privy to your thoughts at the time. Especially when you write about times with your children, your parents and your grandparents. Thank you for sharing your life with us, past and present. {I look forward to the future, too.}

Whatever the reason that you went back to the cafeteria and coffee kiosk, it obviously helped in your grieving process. This is a truly beautiful piece.

Oh, I agree 1000% that Laura Zigman is a brilliant writer. But I’m sure that she agrees with me that YOU are a REAL writer, too. *Big Squishy You Better Admit YOU ARE a REAL Writer Too Hugs*

Gosh, you’ve been through a lot and you’re coping honestly and lovingly. I think that every time we experience the loss of someone we love, we also grieve for all the losses that have gone before. Grief is made up of so many emotions, from anger to sorrow and, yes, sometimes joy in the memories we’re left with. Thank you for the courage to share your pain and healing memories.

Thank you for taking the time to come her and read and comment Glenys!
Grief is very complicated. I’m not you ever stop grieving but I am learning to get past it and move on and, in the process, leave a little of my grief here.
Thanks!